


Less Complicated

by kscribbles



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Character Study, F/M, Het, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-12
Updated: 2012-10-11
Packaged: 2017-11-16 03:24:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/534945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kscribbles/pseuds/kscribbles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>From the uncrowned queen of France to the shop girl off the Powell Estate, the Doctor didn’t have to do a thing and hearts were thrown at his feet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Fair warning: the Doctor and Reinette do a whole lot more than flirt or snog in this. But this really is, at its heart, a Doctor/Rose fic (I promise! Hang in there for part 2). Because Ive long-since wondered what would have happened if the Doctor hadnt been too late, and Madame de Pompadour did join Team TARDIS. How would she have shaken things up? AU from _Girl in the Fireplace_. Many thanks to my betas, both illustrious cheerleaders and red-pen-wielders, requialexa and unfolded73. Written in 2011.

The first adventure with Reinette on board the TARDIS had gone surprisingly well. 

She’d stepped onto the ship in all her Versailles silk and ribbons and baubles finery, clutching only a small satchel filled with her things. She’d looked strikingly out of place amidst the wires and bronze and coral of the TARDIS, but was no less a vision for it. What she must have been thinking of his ship’s dim interior after the splendour of the palace she was accustomed to, he couldn’t imagine.

Back in that palace, in her bedroom, he'd told her to pick a star, but once on board the TARDIS, with all of time and space at her command, all she'd said was, “I want to see your world.”

She must have noticed when his face clouded with emotion he couldn't suppress, because before he could have explained the impossibility, she'd clarified.

“All of yours,” she'd said, clearly including Mickey and Rose. “My Earth. Your time.”

“Oh, but I've just come from there, and trust me, it's boring,” Mickey had said. “You don't want to go there. And I've only just signed up on this boat myself. Clockwork robots looking for your brain, and wanting my guts for garters was my first trip. It's your call, but pick somewhere else, yeah?”

“What about–?” Rose had begun, and he, practically seeing the idea turn in her head, had finished for her.

“Some _when_ else.”

“Yes,” Rose had confirmed, smiling.

“Somewhen close to your time,” he'd said to Rose, “but far enough to make it interesting for everyone.”

Rose’s eyes had grown wide with that bubbling excitement she always had at the start of a new adventure and joy at their synchronized trains of thought.

“Close enough to ours that Reinette can see how the world's changed,” Rose finished the thought. “1930's?” she'd suggested. “Or...?”

“40's.”

“After the war.”

“Yes!”

Reinette and Mickey had watched his exchange with Rose with amusement. And he'd nearly forgotten it was meant to have been Reinette's choice.

“Will that do?” he'd asked her.

Reinette had glanced at them all and shrugged, the movement exaggerated and loud in her ridiculous dress, and drawing his attention briefly, for about the eighty-third time since he'd met her, to her breasts.

“I don't see why not,” she'd said slowly. “Can we go to the New World?”

“America?” Mickey had asked. “I've never been there.”

“Well, that's settled then!” he'd said, stepping to the TARDIS controls. “Rose, if you'd show our guests to the wardrobe room.”

They’d ended up in Los Angeles in 1949. Big Hollywood. Bigger hats. Beautiful dresses that hugged the curves of his two lovely blonde companions. They went dancing at the Derby. And though they might have run into a hiccup there…

“Not exactly white...” Mickey had pointed out.

“Eh, they'll... just think you're with the band. Or talk English at whoever bothers you. They're suckers for the accent.”

And nobody had bothered them. It was a philosophy that usually served him well. Act like you own the place, and people will assume you do.

No, the first real problem he encountered was after their adventure.

Just a moment before, Rose and Mickey, a little drunk, and a lot giggly, had left the console room in a flurry of noise, leaving him alone with Reinette for the first time since she'd come aboard.

“It's been a long day,” she said, fanning herself with her hand as if overheated. She did look a little flushed.

“Yes,” he said simply.

“I find I’m quite tired. Escort me to my quarters?”

“Rose did show you where–?”

“Yes. Walk me there.”

He offered her his hand. And unencumbered by her huge gown, he found he could stand much closer to her now. He found that he _wanted_ to stand much closer to her, which... could only come to no good.

She was silent on the walk through the TARDIS corridors, and he gave up his attempt to babble about halfway to her room. An unmistakable tension mounted between them as their steps drew closer to the plain door. Such that when they arrived, neither her words nor the meaning behind them were any surprise.

“Would you like to come in?”

“Yes,” he said immediately, before sighing, then backpedalling. “But it probably would be a very bad idea.” Still, he took an involuntary step towards her.

She looked at him from beneath her lashes, a practiced move if ever he’d seen one. “Because…?”

“Reinette,” he warned, opening her door for her, waiting expectantly for her to leave the threshold and enter.

She didn’t. Instead she rose on her tiptoes and kissed him. Though he was less surprised than the first time he’d suddenly found her lips on his, he couldn’t respond. Nor could he explain himself out here in the hall. He gently pushed her away from him and into the room and followed her determinedly, closing the door behind him.

She sat on the bed demurely, and removed her short fur coat, tossing it behind her. She kicked off her red heels, not too dissimilar from those she was accustomed to. Her gaze never left his. His defied him and strayed to her legs, bare from just above the knee. She noticed.

“Do women get used to it?” she asked.

“What?” he said, distracted, trying to formulate his ‘This Can’t Happen’ speech.

“Modern women, all this… uncovered skin.”

He swallowed heavily, saw her eyes dart to the movement. “I–” he started, “I don’t know. Yes, I suppose. Look–”

“In my time, a lady’s flesh …” she began, her hands moving dangerously behind her neck, stretching the fabric of her dress against her chest. A moment later, he heard the unmistakable sound of a zip, slowly being lowered. “…was for the eyes of her lover.”

His eyes widened as the loosening garment began to fall and revealed her shoulders. She stood when the dress pooled at her waist and pushed it over her hips and off.

He blinked at her, standing before him nearly naked, her modern undergarments jarring with a fantasy he hadn’t even previously been conscious of, of her in 18th century ones. He stepped towards her, finally speaking.

“This is all wrong.”

She followed his eyes again. What about this woman made him so… transparent?

“This _bra_?” she asked, trying out the word. “These _knickers_ , I think the word was?”

The thought of where she must have learned the words cut him. “Not just that.”

“Take them off me, then,” she softly commanded.

He opened his mouth to argue, to lecture, to list the reasons why this can’t and shouldn’t and won’t happen. But she’d probably already noticed another part of his body beginning to defy him as well. He closed his mouth and shook his head, hoping that was refusal enough. And then, at odds with that, a moment later, after making no real coherent decision to do so, he closed the gap between them, and did as she asked.

When she kissed him this time, pushing her naked, human-hot body against the cotton of his suit, he gave no resistance. Instead he gave himself over to the sensations, opening his mouth beneath hers to taste her, even as her small hands made quick work of his clothing. When he was as naked as she was, she pulled him onto the bed with her, his body above hers already settling them into position, clearly intending a fierce, quick, no-nonsense shag.

It was all happening tremendously fast, and he was having trouble thinking clearly, surrounded by her scent, her warmth, her soft skin. She was a beautiful, sexy woman who wanted him in a delightfully uncomplicated way. Why _shouldn’t_ he have her?

 _You know exactly why_ , his own voice in his head said. And the image of another blonde woman came quickly after it.

He sighed, pulling away just a fraction. Reinette saw his hesitation.

“It’s just sex, Doctor,” she said gently. “I’ll be gone soon. Like a dream.”

“Not for me,” he answered, not sure which of her three statements he was addressing.

“Make love to me,” she demanded again, with the barest hint of a question.

He nodded, but pulled away even further, up onto his knees, before he issued his own command.

“Turn over.”

>>>

 

In her experience, men of power rarely made excellent lovers. They only sought their own pleasure, made a waste of her own considerable talents. They failed to drop ego and arrogance with trousers and hose. Not this lord.

His movements were desperate, his eyes and his mood dark. He seemed to want simultaneously to experience all she had to offer and to escape her bedroom as soon as possible. The combination alone was intoxicating. Not that he didn't please her. Thoroughly. Several times. There was torture in him and she was quite happy to take it, in any small way she could, into herself. She was, rather unfortunately, in love with this man. It was exhausting.

And though it was not her custom to sleep with those she's bedded, she found she wanted him to stay. To hold on to him for as long as he would allow. Which, as it happened, was not to be long at all. He stroked her hair as her body calmed for the last time that evening, as she listened with her ear on his chest to his strange heartbeat, which resumed a moderate pace much more quickly than hers could.

She had just begun to doze against him when he shifted gently beneath her, untangling them. She mewed a sleepy protest, but thought it best not to say any words that would make him feel more awkward. She watched him steadily in the low light as he silently redressed, criminally reclothing his beautiful body. What wasn't beautiful about this man? Even his pain, the guilt she saw now on his face was, in its way, exquisite. She closed her eyes, though, unable to witness it any longer.

She heard the last rustles of his clothing, and then, surprisingly, a brief dip of the bed as he pressed a hand or knee into it, leaned over her, and placed a chaste kiss on her forehead. As if she were that little girl who had first met him and not the woman, grown.

“Goodnight Reinette,” he said softly, and then was gone.

>>>

 

Mickey awoke after only an hour or two of sleep. Who could tell on a ship that travels through time anyway? After damn well not enough sleep. He was unfortunately not at all drunk anymore, and already had the beginnings of what would be a killer headache come morning. Or what counted as morning in this crazy box.

Not that this time travel thing was all bad. The nineteen _forties_! Dancing and drinking and pretending to be all posh? That was miles better than being strapped to tables and attacked by French robots. Or... were they French? Whatever they were, no one pointed anything sharp at him last night. Tonight. Whatever.

He needed water.

Ha paused outside his door to get his bearings. The kitchen was that way, wasn’t it? He started off in the assumed correct direction. Twenty meters and around two bends down the hall and he wasn’t sure he’d been correct at all. Nope, that was definitely Reinette’s door; he’d been with Rose earlier when she showed her. So that would mean the kitchen was–. He began to turn when her door opened and out stepped a rumpled Doctor, shutting the door quickly, taking a deep breath and running a hand through his hair.

Mickey blinked in surprise. The Doctor... and Reinette? He couldn’t have, could he? With her? Oh but he knew a just-shagged-look if ever he’d seen one. Had happily worn it himself many a morning, even if it’d been a while. Only, the Doctor didn’t look exactly… happy.

The Doctor, noticing him, blinked back.

“All right, Doctor,” he said coldly, not exactly sure if he should be or had a right to be angry. But he _was_.

“Ah,” he said, radiating nervousness. “Mickey. You seem very… sober. Rose all right?”

“Sleeping,” he answered. “Reinette?”

“The same,” he said quickly before realising the implication. “I think. Though I have absolutely no idea. Why would I?”

“Right,” Mickey said, narrowing his eyes, trying to decide if the Doctor actually thought he was _that_ stupid. Probably did. As they stood together for an awkward moment, he debated whether or not he needed to issue a warning in defence of Rose. Something that included ‘I’ll have to kill you’ somewhere in it. It would probably only make the bastard laugh at him.

“Mickey,” the Doctor began after a sigh, the bullshit gone from his voice. “Look–”

He held up a hand to stop him. “It’s none of my business, Doctor.”

“No, but you should know that–”

“What, Doctor?” he said harshly, now daring him to say... anything about this out loud. “What should I know?”

The Doctor looked down, didn’t answer.

He found himself feeling unfamiliar concern for the other man. Alien. Whatever. He sighed.

“Do you know what you’re doing, Doctor? Really, though?”

“I... no. Not, really no.”

Mickey nodded. Sympathy and fury both churning through him at once. He’d better get out of here before he got in the middle of something ugly.

“Right,” he said again. “Well, I didn’t see anything on my way to the kitchen to grab a water.”

The Doctor closed his eyes and so softly he barely heard, said, “Thank you.”

He nodded and headed off.

“Mickey,” he heard from behind him, “It’s that way.”

>>>

 

He was insane. There wasn’t really a better explanation, the Doctor thought, as he stepped into his shower. 900 years of time and space had finally driven him around the bend. It started with him jumping through a time window _on a horse_ and continued with him shagging a French courtesan, down the hall from where the most important person in his life right now was peacefully sleeping off a night of revelry.

Not that this had anything to do with Rose. This had everything to do with him being weak, and Reinette being... very persuasive. All right, so all she’d done, really, was asked. And got naked. And kissed him. But it wasn’t like he hadn’t turned down beautiful women before. He was propositioned fairly often, as it happened. In this ‘foxy’ body, especially. Why was she different?

He scrubbed at himself more harshly than was strictly necessary, hoping the vague pain would distract him from his self-examination. It didn’t. Why had he turned to Reinette, allowed himself to be seduced so completely? It wasn’t like him. She distracted him quite effectively when she chose to. Something most women couldn’t do so well. And while thoughts of any woman but the one beneath him (or indeed above...and beside him) at the time may have been completely blotted out, the effects were very temporary. It all came flooding back before he’d even pulled back on his trousers.

He shook his head beneath the water.

Okay, so maybe it did have something to do with Rose. Maybe this was like inviting Mickey onto the ship, only worse. Reinette was an even more insurmountable buffer than Rose’s ex. Especially if he was shagging her. Reinette, not Rose. Whom he wanted. But shouldn’t want. Why shouldn’t he? Ah, right, because allowing himself to love her would make her eventual departure that much more painful.

Even in his head it sounded feeble, cowardly. He’d nearly told her how he felt in front of that chip shop (had it really been just yesterday?), albeit by accident. Why did he think she couldn’t handle it? Rose was stronger than he was allowing for. And so, if he was honest with himself, was he.

He turned off the water and leaned against the cool tiles with a heavy sigh. He was making excuses for doing that for which he had none. He was in love with Rose. He’d fucked Reinette.

It was so very wrong. And yet... he wanted to do it again.

 

_tbc..._  



	2. Chapter 2

Unbeknownst to apparently everyone else on this ship, Rose was not an idiot. The Doctor was being more distant than usual; Mickey was clearly hiding something and wouldn’t even look at her. In fact, the only one who would look at her was their new guest. So either they were planning on throwing Rose a surprise party or _something_ was going on.

She knew what she was in for when the Doctor told them Madame de Pomapdour was coming on board. And no, she wasn’t particularly thrilled with the idea; Reinette was in love with the Doctor. Or thought she was. Grew up with this fantasy hero in her head who said he’d come and save her one day. And then _did_. And then whisked her off in his magic ship. What regular bloke could compete with that? Any girl’d fall in love. Any girl had. From the uncrowned queen of France to the shop girl off the Powell Estate, the Doctor didn’t have to do a thing and hearts were thrown at his feet for the stomping.

Not that she’d let him do that to her. She was more determined than ever to keep her own feelings in check around him. By not throwing a jealous strop she was showing that she’d grown as a person (okay, maybe only since her last such strop, the other day, with Sarah Jane), but more than that she was... respecting the delicate balance of her confusing relationship with the Doctor. They weren’t _together_ , so what say did she have over what beautiful women he talked to, or where his eyes strayed? 

The Doctor had invited Reinette to thank her for providing him a way home; to show a remarkable person the brilliant world outside of her own. But Rose knew there was another reason. It was also why he’d told Mickey he could come, over her protests. More sets of eyes on this ship meant there was less time that they could be alone. Other people meant safety. Not much danger of her grabbing the Doctor by the hair and snogging him senseless (again), when Mickey was around. No chance with Reinette along for the ride as well.

Although apparently, that didn’t stop _her_. Reinette had been seducing the Doctor since the moment she was old enough to. That meant years for her, and Rose knew a determined woman when she saw one. Reinette, by all accounts, was used to getting what she wanted, and had charms Rose herself did not possess. If anyone could successfully seduce the Doctor, it would be Reinette. 

And that something going on? Might very well be that she’d succeeded. The thought made Rose feel more than slightly ill. There was, despite her determination, the rage of jealousy there, sharp as a knife, but that wasn’t the only emotion stirred up by the possibility. It was almost, and this made little sense, even in her own head, but it was almost relief. The Doctor was _changing_ , letting _someone_ in. And if Reinette had to be the catalyst for the change she’d like to think began with her own positive influence in his life, maybe that was... okay? 

Which was ridiculous, because the thought of them, together... 

She had to know, one way or the other. Didn’t she? And who would give her a straight answer? Maybe Reinette. But _could_ she say anything to her?

About a week now they’d all travelled together. A week oddly devoid of danger. She wondered if the TARDIS had a hand in that, or if they’d just been lucky. Today they were in some sort of dome, suspended in the rings of Saturn, on their way to the best cafe in the Human Empire in the 44th century. The path they walked from the TARDIS looked like it was suspended in the vibrantly coloured space dust, the clear dome sparkling all around them.

She’d been lagging behind, wrapped up in her own head. The Doctor walked ahead of Mickey and Reinette, pointing out marvellous things like a museum docent, about the dome, about this space mall, hardly glancing behind to see if his companions were paying attention.

Shaking herself from her circular thoughts that weren’t doing anyone any good, she decided to play this game like the Doctor. If you pretended nothing was wrong long enough, maybe nothing would be wrong. She skipped ahead and grabbed the Doctor’s hand and clutched it in hers. He turned to her and gave her a delighted smile, one that made his eyes sparkle, her heart ache, and her stomach flip. Maybe she’d been wrong about _everything_. She beamed back at him, and his smile faltered just a bit, like he’d just remembered something. But he swung their arms between them and called to the others to keep up.

“You’ll have no idea what to order,” the Doctor said when they arrived at the crowded cafe. “I’ll sort it out,” he said to them all. “Go find us a table.” He changed directions mid stride and made for a jumble of people on the other side of the large room, where, beneath a large blinking sign saying INPUT, there was apparently a queue for ordering food. 

Suddenly seeing an opportunity to get Reinette alone without it seeming odd, everything she’d been trying to ignore for the past few minutes came bubbling up to the surface.

“I’ll just pop off to the loo,” she said to Mickey and Reinette. “Reinette, do you want—?”

“I’m fine,” Reinette said quickly. “You go on. Mickey and I will do as the Doctor charged.”

“’Kay,” she said, and then, trying for a joke: “Find us something by a window.”

Well. So much for that idea. Maybe it was for the best that she remained in the dark. Ignorance was bliss, all that? She shrugged and started weaving through the crowd, looking for something that might be the ladies. 

>>>

 

Reinette found herself alone with Mickey for the first time in the week they’d been travelling together. Sitting across a garish orange table from each other, he barely looked up, instead preferred to examine the material from which the small table was constructed or the edge of the clear dome near them and muttering something about “space age.”

Mickey had been ill at ease around her for some time now. It hadn’t started right away, though. Indeed that first night of dancing and carousing in Hollywood had been her favourite adventure. Since then, she’d sensed a coldness from just about everyone. Not the Doctor, not in her bed at nights, and Rose always had a cheerful smile, but at turns, everyone seemed more disturbed by her presence than not. She had rocked this little family and she wasn’t exactly sure why, though she suspected her sleeping with the Doctor had much to do with it. 

They apparently hadn’t been as discreet as he had indicated was necessary, and this group couldn’t keep the matters of the boudoir from the rest of life’s affairs. This enormous ship they travelled in, more vast by all account than Versailles, was a far more... intimate environment than the French court. 

And while she understood why Rose might take issue with her trysts with the Doctor (the girl was clearly ridiculously in love, no matter the platonic state of their relationship) why should Mickey care what she did with the Doctor? He looked at Rose with such naked longing when he thought others weren’t observing him, she would have thought that anything that might distract the object of Rose’s affections could only be a good thing as far as he was concerned. Though she didn’t know the extent of their relationship, she gathered Mickey had been in love with Rose for years.

“Were you lovers?” she asked, apropos of nothing outside of her own thoughts.

“What?”

“You and Rose,” she said, inclining her head in the direction Rose had gone.

Mickey lifted his eyes, which flitted over hers, then past her shoulder and across the crowded room, where the Doctor was still in line to ‘input’ their meal orders.

“We were... she was my girlfriend for a while, a couple years, so...” 

“And then the Doctor came and swooped her away?”

“Something like that, yeah,” he answered.

“That must have been difficult for you.”

“It was for a year. They thought I’d done away with her and the grief I got from the police, from Jackie. I could barely keep a job, and I tried to tell people—”

He looked relieved to be able to air his complaints to someone who’d not heard them before, but he stopped himself abruptly.

“Look,” he said, finally looking at her directly. He paused again like the rest was harder to say. “She _loves_ him.”

His eyes implored her to understand his meaning without him having to say anything further. He meant Rose, and that she loves the Doctor. This wasn’t news to her. But... _Ah_. 

“And you love her,” she stated, not a question.

“I want her to be happy.” 

“So much so you’d rather she be with him and not with you?”

He nodded, almost imperceptibly. 

“That is,” she said, reaching across the table and placing her hand over his, “a very selfless love, Mickey. Most aren’t capable of it.” 

_Was she?_

“Yeah, well...” he trailed off, shrugging, looking nervous again.

Could she do what this man before her was doing, effectively send her lover into the arms of another, for his own good? Or at least, not get in the way of something he wanted... perhaps needed. She loved the Doctor, she cherished every moment she’d had with him, but she had a life to get back to. And so did the Doctor. That life didn’t include her, not for anything longer than a brief dalliance. 

She made up her mind, then.

“I’ll be leaving tomorrow.”

His eyes filled with alarm and relief all at once. “No, I didn’t mean that you should—”

“That’s all right,” she said, giving his hand a squeeze. “I knew my time on the TARDIS was limited. I have to get back to my life and my King.” She paused, wondering how much to reveal to him. She figured what she’d say would be nothing he couldn’t figure out on his own. Mickey was more perceptive than others around him gave him credit for. 

She spoke more softly than before. “And I am... not so selfless. Or I couldn’t be if I stayed.” 

At his look over her shoulder again, she turned her head to see that Rose had caught up with the Doctor upon her return and was helping him carry the trays of food to the table. 

“They...” she said, turning back to Mickey. And then, taking a deep breath, her heart clenching a bit as she spoke, “...They belong together.”

* * *

The last time they made love, he held her in his arms afterwards, told her she was beautiful. 

“That’s a change from the first time,” she said. “When you didn’t even want to see my face.”

“It’s not that I didn’t want to look at you,” he said softly. “It’s that... it’s what I didn’t want you to see.”

He didn’t quite say _I didn’t want you to see **me**_ but he might as well have done. She held his admission close to her heart, knew his honesty, his openness at this moment meant it was definitely time for her to go.

“I know, my love.”

He closed his eyes. “Don’t...”

“Doctor,” she scolded gently, “you know as well as I do that love does not have to reciprocated to be genuine.”

He sighed, but didn’t contradict her.

“You walked through my life in a matter of what... minutes, Doctor? I knew you for years, my whole life.”

“But you didn’t. You built up an idea of who I was, Reinette. A... a fantasy.”

“No,” she insisted. “I know you, Doctor. I saw inside your head.”

“A glimpse—”

“I still see inside your head. One does not become a king’s mistress without knowing how to read men. And you—this you, not any child’s fantasy—are a man. A Lord of Time, and more complicated than anyone I’ve ever met, but still a man, whose heart—hearts—are plainer than he thinks.”

He shifted, untangled himself from her, as if he were about to leave, but didn’t move again. He only looked at her, hard and appraising. He didn’t _want_ to talk about this. Matters of the heart did not sit easily on his mind or his tongue. But he wanted to know what she was thinking, what she thought about _him_. 

“Go on,” he said finally. “What do you see so plainly, then?” 

She took a deep breath. “I see enough to know...” she paused, still not entirely sure if she could go through with this. Suddenly not at all certain that she had the will to leave him, never mind give him the push he needed to seek his own happiness. 

“Know what?” he prodded.

“I’m not enough for you,” she said in a rush, cursing the tears she could feel forming in her eyes.

“Reinette...”

“I’m easy for you. Simple.”

That brought an edge of anger to his voice. “This has hardly been—”

Now that she’d begun, she couldn’t stop. “Sex, affection, without attachment. You know I’m leaving and that you... you can’t hurt me. Not really. You think your love destroys people because everyone you love has been destroyed. It doesn’t have to be that way.”

He sat up abruptly in bed, threw his legs over the side. He stilled then, his back to her.

“You can’t know that, Reinette.”

“Which part?” she asked, rising, placing a gentle hand on his bare shoulder.

He didn’t answer.

“You won’t destroy _her_ , Doctor.”

He sucked in a sharp breath. 

“She loves you, you know,” she said, whispering it against the cooling skin of his back.

He stiffened under her hand and she desperately wished he would turn to look at her. When he spoke, he was angry again, the tone of it icy, but the words were soft. 

“You knew that and yet you seduced me?”

“ _You_ knew that,” she countered, “and yet you slept with me?”

He rose then and without a word, found his trousers and slipped them on. She had a crippling moment of self doubt; sure she’d gone about this all wrong. She may only have managed to push him away from her and further into his own self-loathing.

He grabbed for his shirt, but then dropped it and leaned against the wall opposite the bed, arms folded across his chest. He looked at her steadily for several minutes, and she let him. She sat still, wrapped in the bedclothes, letting him have his internal debate.

“You presume many things,” he said finally. “About me. About others as well.”

“Have I said anything that wasn’t true?”

“What _Rose_ feels,” he said, speaking her name between them for the first time, “is not your business.”

“What _you_ feel is.”

He snorted. “And you’ve got me all figured out, then, have you? A glimpse in my head, a week’s worth of shags and you know how to fix all my problems?”

She smiled at him, not taking offense at his words. It was his way, she was learning, to lash out in defence when he was upset.

“Not all your problems, no,” she said. “Just one.”

“Right, well, enlighten me. What would you have me do? Go to her, tell her the other woman I’ve been fucking told me I should go after my hearts’ desire, and lucky for you, Rose, that’s you?”

“You might not want to open with that,” she said, finally feeling a little exasperated. What _was_ it with these people? In the modern age, did no one just _go after_ what they wanted? Did everyone pine away and look longingly at what they could have if they only spoke the words necessary?

“She wouldn’t forgive me, Reinette,” he said softly, sorrow replacing his anger.

“Is that why you did it? Let me seduce you to erect an insurmountable wall between you?

“No, I... just wanted something...”

“Simple?” she said again.

He shook his head. “Less complicated.”

“But that isn’t what you _need_ , is it, Doctor?”

He closed his eyes, gave another tiny, almost imperceptible shake of his head.

“You need _her_.”

He opened his eyes and sighed heavily, pushing off the wall and coming back toward her. He pulled back the covers, not even glancing at her body, but silently urging her to lie down. He got back in bed and pulled her into his arms again, kissing her on the temple, nothing sexual in the gesture at all.

“You need her,” she said again softly. “And I need to go home, back to my life, and back to the king. Say what you need to say, but go to her. Tell her. Don’t both live these... half-lives without love.”

He said nothing for several moments, and then he spoke quietly on the edge of another sigh. “You’re right. I know you are. And yet... I wish I could keep you.”

She laughed a little at that. “No one _keeps_ me, my Lord. That’s why I’m the king’s mistress and not his wife. And that would be greedy of you, Doctor, having two women who love you.”

He said nothing, but made a small sound that sounded something like amusement.

“You’re thinking about having us both at once, aren’t you?”

He laughed outright, a short bark of delight. “I _wouldn’t_ ,” he said, sounding mock scandalized in a way that told her if he hadn’t been, he absolutely was now. She felt an incredible relief that he let his mood be so shifted.

“See,” she said, “A Time Lord, but still a man.”

>>>

 

He hadn’t really thought it through, had he, inviting Reinette on board? He only knew he hadn’t wanted that adventure to be over. In his elation at finding a way home, he’d wanted to delight someone else as well. And she adored him and had been no more ready for him to leave than he’d been to part company with her. And she deserved to see beautiful things. And yes, he’d wanted to show off. And damn this body, full of desires, despite years of conditioning in his youth to prevent such baseness in his nature, he’d wanted _her_.

But he’d shown her her star. And she’d shown him, so much. Opened his eyes, rather, to what he’d already known. Now, after leaving her room for the last time, he was unsure whether or not to be grateful to her for that. He wasn’t sure he _could_ do as she’d told him, and sort things with Rose. Where would he even begin? 

A shower, he thought. He’d begin there. Then his feet would carry him to Rose’s room. And then? Well, he’d do it like he’d done everything else in his long life. He’d make it up as he went along.

>>>

 

A knock at Rose’s door roused her from a barely-asleep sleep. There was really only one person it could be, and yet she was still a little surprised to see the Doctor come in. He sat at the edge of her bed and simply said, “Hi.”

“Hi,” she said, sitting up in bed. “What’s going on?”

“Um,” he said. “Nothing? Does anything need to be going on?”

She studied him, squinting, wondering if maybe she hadn’t woken at all. “Usually, if you come into someone’s room in the middle of the night, yeah.”

“Right,” he nodded. “Suppose that’s true. Just that, you know, full TARDIS, we haven’t had any opportunities lately, just the two of us, to... talk.”

“Do we need to?” she asked, beginning to feeling apprehensive. “To talk?”

“Well...” He paused, looking like he was deciding on something very important. Then he said, firmly, “Yes. We do.” Then he said nothing.

“Okay, so...” she prodded after a minute.

He took a deep breath. “I’ve just come from Reinette’s room,” he began.

Her eyes widened, taking in his disturbed air, his wet hair fresh from the shower. This was it then? He was going to confirm her suspicions? And then what? 

“Oh...” she let out on a breath. Summoning up her courage, her brave face, “So you and Rei—?” she began to ask before he cut her off.

“She told me she’s leaving tomorrow. Going home.”

“Oh,” she said, frowning, confused. “Why?” Despite everything, she couldn’t imagine why anyone would want to leave this life.

“For the sake of history, I suppose,” he said on a sigh, clearly leaving out volumes. He scooted up next to her, leaning against her headboard, crossing his arms across his chest and feet at his ankles.

“You have a time machine,” she pointed out. “She could travel with you for years and go back as soon as she left.”

He looked at her for a long moment. “Yes, she could,” he finally said. “She doesn’t want to.”

“Oh,” she said a third time, feeling silly and emotional, and not exactly sure how to respond. He looked sad, hurt even. But with an undercurrent of something she couldn’t define. Excitement maybe. Nervousness, at least. Like he was bursting to say more, but couldn’t or didn’t know how. He stared straight ahead as he began to speak again. 

“This was only ever a lark for her. A holiday, not a... lifestyle choice. She loves her life at home, Rose. That’s how she’s different from the rest of us.”

“Us?”

“I ran away from home too, you know. A couple times. From _my_ ‘work and food and sleep,’ you could say.”

She smiled at him, remembering his words to her when he’d asked her to travel with him, even as she could feel the wetness of tears pooling in her eyes.

“But doesn’t she...” She swallowed. “Doesn’t she also love you?”

He turned to look at her again. “Yes,” he said simply, and she was shocked at how candid he was being. “She said she does, anyway. That’s another reason she’s leaving.”

She hated feeling the tears roll down her face, but refused to swipe at them. “I don’t...” She cleared her throat. “I don’t understand.”

“She wants me to be happy. She feels she’s...” He stopped, corrected himself. “She _is_ an impediment to that.”

“Why?” she blurted out, her heart hammering, her mind whirling.

He looked at her like that answer was obvious. “You make me happy, Rose.”

He unfolded his arms and leaned forward to place a lingering kiss against her hair. “I just thought you should know,” he said. “Get some rest.” He rose from her bed and made for the door. 

“Wait!” she called as his hand landed on the door knob. She scrambled out of bed to stand between him and the door. His eyes raked nervously over her. “You can’t just say that to a girl and leave.”

“Really?” he asked, unsurely, running a hand through the hair at the back of his head. 

“Really. What does that even mean? I make you happy?”

“Yes?” he said hesitantly, like he wasn’t sure the answer would please her.

She took a deep breath. “Do you _want_ me?”

He looked at her squarely, his expression as open and honest as she’d ever seen it. “Every inch of you,” he said softly.

She flushed at his words, and a large part of her wanted to throw her arms, and every inch of herself around him, but she knew she couldn’t. Her voice trembled as she spoke. “Do you want her?”

The Doctor didn’t answer.

>>>

 

The morning of Reinette’s departure from the TARDIS, Mickey peered through her open doorway, checking in, as she packed her few belongings.

“Ready to go?” he asked.

She looked up from her valise and gave him a watery smile. “No,” she said, shakily.

He smiled back, softly. He couldn’t help but feel a bit for her. 

She schooled her features into the noble, emotionless... French face she wore most of the time. “But it’s time for me to go home.”

He agreed with a shrug. “Guess so.”

“Could you...” She seemed about to say something very important, but she stopped herself. “Could you check and see if the Doctor has set the coordinates for Versailles, please, Mickey?” 

“Yeah,” he said. “Of course.” 

He turned away, but not before he saw her close her eyes and take a take a deep, steadying breath.

He walked slowly towards the console room. Before arriving, though, he turned a corner to see the Doctor and Rose, standing in the hallway just outside of it. They stood, leaning on opposite walls, each mirroring the other’s pose, arms crossed protectively across their chests. They spoke softly, but their voices carried down the hall. He ducked out of sight before they spotted him.

“Doctor,” he heard Rose say, calmly as if she was discussing the shopping list. “I won’t be just another blonde for you.”

“Rose,” the Doctor said sharply. “How could you think—?” He stopped, audibly grappling for words, but didn’t continue.

“What am I _supposed_ to think?”

He heard the deep breath the Doctor let slowly out through his nose. “There’s no one for me but you, Rose.”

“Because she’s leaving?” Rose asked, and he could tell she was only just holding in venom... or tears.

He heard a rustle of fabric, and the Doctor say roughly, “Because of _you_.”

Mickey closed his eyes. Even _he’d_ fall for the bastard when he spoke like that. But knowing Rose, she wouldn’t be easily swayed. Nor should she be. The Doctor, he figured, still had a ways to go. 

He supposed this point was as good as any to make his presence known. Any longer and it might become even more awkward. When he rounded the corner, trying to make it seem like he’d had some momentum behind him, Rose was in the same defensive stance, but the Doctor had stepped forward, and had a hand laid softly on Rose’s cheek.

The Doctor sprang back from Rose when they saw him come down the hall, and both tried to look entirely too casual.

“Mickey!” the Doctor said with over-exuberance, meeting him in the hall and clapping him on the shoulder. “Just the man I wanted to see. Shall we stop off for anything French in Versailles? A bottle of wine from their cellars? A roasted pheasant?”

“Nah, maybe we’ve had our fill of French stuff for a while.” Mickey said, wriggling away from the Doctor and carrying on into the console room, not looking back to see their expressions. 

“Mickey! “ Rose called after him, following him into the room.

“What? I’m just saying...” he mumbled.

The Doctor entered then and walked directly to the controls, without looking at either of them, pulling levers and twisting knobs. Reinette came into the console room with her bag just as the TARDIS was shuddering to a fairly smooth landing.

“Versailles,” the Doctor declared with a flourish, leaning back against the jumpseat. “Right year even,” he said glancing at the monitor. “Date too.”

Reinette gave a small inscrutable smile, and looked at all of them and none of them, spread out as they were around the console. “Suppose this is farewell, then.”

Madame de Pompadour left the TARDIS with specific goodbyes to each of them. First she approached the Doctor, hugged him tightly and said simply, “Goodbye Doctor.”

“Give my best to the King of France,” the Doctor replied. 

Rose she kissed affectionately on the cheek and whispered something to her, too softly for anyone else to hear. Rose’s expression held the ghost of a smile.

Mickey hadn’t really expected to receive the same treatment, but in a moment her soft lips were also brushing against his cheek. 

“Look after them, Mickey,” Reinette said into his ear. “They’re idiots.”

 

FIN


End file.
